


All Bets Are Off

by Valmouth



Category: Justice League & Justice League Unlimited (Cartoons)
Genre: Bets, Established Relationship, Humor, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-23
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-12 17:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/814351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valmouth/pseuds/Valmouth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark put the WayneTech tablet carefully back on the table, removed his glasses, and shrugged one broad shoulder. “It was only a bit of fun.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	All Bets Are Off

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own no rights to these two characters or to the various universes they belong to. I mean no offence by posting this and make no money from it.
> 
> A/N: This has the most nebulous connection to any kind of chronology. It was mostly written as an attempt at humour.

It was sad but true, Bruce thought, that he knew all sub-categories of the expression of smug victory in Clark’s behaviour.

“Alright,” he sighed, “What was it this time?”

Clark cast a quick glance of enquiry back at him. “What?”

“The bet,” Bruce bit out, “What was it this time and do I have to worry.”

Innocence flickered and turned into amusement. And more smug victory.

Bruce grit his teeth. “We talked about this,” he growled, hands slamming flat on the table.

Clark didn’t even blink. He put the WayneTech tablet carefully back on the table, removed his glasses, and shrugged one broad shoulder. “It was only a bit of fun.”

Bruce glared.

“It was completely harmless.”

Bruce waited.

“And not insulting to you at all. Meant with affection, really.”

“Clark.”

“How did you know I won a bet?” Clark retaliated.

“The bills on your fridge are gone, you’re insufferably smug, and it’s been four months since the last time.”

Clark grinned again. “Well, you have to admit the funds help. Reporters don’t get paid what they used to and there’s the wear and tear on shoes.”

“Clark.”

The grin softened. “If you’d ever make it to a JL social event.”

Something odd flashed across Bruce’s expression, and then the glare dialled down to stony indifference. “You do realise I know when you’re sanitising the terms without lying.”

Clark reached impulsively across the table. “They really didn’t mean it in any negative way. It was a joke. You do go out of your way to foster that impression, by the way.”

“What impression?”

“That whole ‘I don’t see the need to socialise with work colleagues’ impression.”

“That’s not an impression,” Bruce says drily.

Clark’s fingers tightened just a little.

Bruce tried to pull his hand back and found it wouldn’t budge. This in itself wasn’t uncommon in interactions with Superman; he’d grown used to pointed silence and absolute stillness as a means of getting his opinion on the matter across.

Clark let go.

Bruce stood up. “If you’ve bought a gift for me with that money, return it. Or donate it to charity.”

“Bruce, that’s not…”

“It isn’t an impression, Clark,” Bruce said quietly, deadly serious.

And Clark nodded soberly.

It wasn’t, for all that they’d talked about that too. 

He watched that broad back head towards the doorway, no doubt to take a shower, and he waited until it was almost gone before he said, “The money’s good, Bruce, but mostly I just like proving how much I get you.”

Bruce stopped.

“I bet that you’d attend that fundraiser for the children’s hospital,” Clark elaborated, “And I bet it when everyone else was grumbling about how no one wanted to go.”

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t drop such unsubtle hints about my blind spots.”

“I don’t think I see it as your blind spot, Bruce. It’s just a part of who you are. And it makes me happy to get who you are. It’s not about the money, it’s about how right I am when it comes to you.” Clark winced. “Er, not that I’m saying you’re predictable or easy to see through or anything.”

Bruce tossed a wry look back over his shoulder. “You were doing so well until that part, Kal.”

Clark grinned hopefully. “So maybe now’s a good time to point out I put all the money on the water bill.”

Bruce snorted and started moving again. “I told you I wouldn’t accept any gifts from the proceeds of your mild gambling addiction.”

“Hey!” Clark protested, and got up, the schematics on the WayneTech tablet completely forgotten as he followed Bruce further into the apartment. “It was a bet, not a poker game!”

Bruce leaned out of the bathroom. “Since you’re making distinctions, let me make one of my own – I refuse to benefit from your ill-gotten winnings, but if you get in the shower too, that should negate any personal gain on my part.”

Clark stripped off his shirt without even thinking about it. “Quite the loophole,” he said.

Bruce shook his head sardonically. “We’re going to have to write something about monetary bets into the League charter, you know.”

Clark reached out for him. “Tell you what,” he whispered, “I bet I can make you forget all about it in the next ten minutes.”

“If you lose?”

“How about payment in kind?”

Bruce grinned. “You’re on.”

 


End file.
